


I'd give you stars for safekeeping

by fightingtheblankpage



Series: tv and tents [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, and fluff, and tents, awkward firts time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightingtheblankpage/pseuds/fightingtheblankpage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's got a plan, but alas, those things never work. Isaac has a plan, too, and it consists of a tent and both of them in the woods and the hope that, yes, that may work out. If they finally manage to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd give you stars for safekeeping

Scott has a plan. It’s a meticulously thought-through, actually written down, hopefully infallible plan. It’s got bullet points, little annotations and one doodle that Scott would rather not discuss and **_not_** have his Mom see. The plan concerns Isaac, and the awesome, uncoordinated make-out sessions on Scott’s living room floor.

It concerns Isaac in that Scott wants to talk things through with Isaac, and make sure Isaac knows it wasn’t just an effect of sleep deprivation and that Scott is in. He’s so fucking in from time to time he can’t sleep again, but now it’s the good kind of not sleeping – the kind where he’s giddy for the next pack meeting, and nervous in an oddly pleasant way. The second part‒ well, Scott silently hopes that there may be a repeated performance of the aforementioned make-out sessions. That would be nice. That would be **_perfect_**.

Scott has a plan, so of course life comes along and ruins it.

It’s hard to have a heart-to-heart with your **_male_** pack member while being in constant mortal danger. Those things work out great in movies, sure, but not so much in real life. Scott is pretty sure seducing Isaac with his personal charm and maybe some tastefully displayed werewolf-abs isn’t happening with both of them constantly on stakeouts, posing as punching bags for the alpha pack or taking part in long, **_long_** quasi-diplomatic meetings.

True enough, those work out in the end. It would probably be hilarious, too, watching Derek trying to be all civil and calmly logical with the alphas, and looking constipated the whole time. It would be, if not for the fact that **_their survival_** depends on Derek’s oratory skills. Ironic? Yes. Reassuring? **_Hell no_**.

Scott can’t believe he’s admitting that, but it’s good they’ve got Peter on board. Peter may be a rat – with his ratty abandoning of the sinking ship every time stuff gets dangerous, and his detached ratty comments – but he’s useful. Scott isn’t admitting it out loud, though.

It’s bad enough when Stiles does, one day. The alphas are already gone – and bon voyage to them, really – and they are all hanging out in the Hale house. The atmosphere is balancing between relaxed and wary, because they can’t believe they can finally **_breathe_** again, but they really want to.

“I guess we should drink to Peter,” Stiles says from his spot on the couch, cradling a beer that Derek has begrudgingly allowed them to bring to the house. “His sleazy ways have sleazed us out of this one.”

Peter tips his own bottle in mock-salute, and they all sip, they expressions guarded. Scott’s eyes stray over to Allison, who has taken up to appearing for their meetings after her dad became a sort-of, kind-of honorary pack member. Allison gives him a small smile, warm and friendly, and Scott finds he can smile back **_without_** his face feeling like it’s going to fracture and fall off. It’s better, it’s all going steadily towards **_good_**.

When he sneaks a glance at Isaac, Isaac’s wearing that particular expression of his that is so nonchalant it has to be faked, and Scott just knows Isaac’s been looking at him. Watching him drink, with the bottleneck pressed to his lips. Scott feels himself blushing.

He’s actually considering if maybe he can get some quality Isaac-ogling done without any of them noticing, but Derek’s gruff, slightly insulted voice catches his attention.

“Peter was just assisting me in negotiations,” Derek says, glaring daggers at Stiles.

Peter rolls his eyes in a very disconcerting synchrony with Lydia’s sweetly ironic, “Flail your jealousy, why won’t you.”

Stiles just laughs and clinks his bottle against Derek’s. Derek looks pleased for all of three seconds, before he notices his pack snickering at him. Scott grins widely, tensions bleeding out of him and leaving him a graceless pile against the cushions thrown carelessly across the floor. It’s a perfect position to watch Isaac smile, and Scott takes full advantage.

***

Scott has a plan, but apparently so does Isaac. And Isaac is quicker with execution.

One week before the end of the summer break, Scott’s Mom wakes him up bright an early. Scott mumbles into the pillow, confused that she’s even in his room – their relationship is still somewhat tentative, but again, this is getting better with time, too – and groggy with sleep.

“It’s not time to go to school yet,” he complains, squinting at her when she opens the curtain in a brisk move that changes his pleasantly dark cave into a horrific, sunny place.

“Your friend’s here,” his Mom says. Scott can’t really see her face against the sharp reflex of the cloudless sky outside the window, but he knows her well enough to read a smile from the set of her shoulders.

“Stiles?” Scott asks. He sits up, and it’s about as far as he’s willing to move. Stiles can get his ass up here, their friendship has long since crossed any barriers of shame and personal space.

“No, not Stiles,” his Mom says, and there it is, the smile – it’s even in her voice, but there is something like worry underneath it. Nevertheless, Scott’s missed seeing her smile. “Isaac.”

Scott’s brain short-circuits. There is a certain set of thoughts chasing each other in his mind: Isaac is here. The last time Isaac’s been here Scott had to wipe come stains from the floor. He’s thinking about sex with his Mom in the room. Not good, not good, abort.

His Mom has her teasing mode on, apparently. “Isaac. You may know him. Tall, curly hair, bad posture.”

Scott almost blurts out ‘Intimately’, and wouldn’t that be a nice way to come out to his Mom as apparently-bisexual. One shocker at a time. Let her fully get over the Great Werewolf Revelation.

All those thoughts pop into Scott’s head and get placed on the backburner, because he’s too busy pretty much catapulting himself out of the bed. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” he calls to his Mom, disappearing into the bathroom.

He takes one of those showers that are slowed down by the water falling too sluggishly, dresses up so fast the seams of his t-shirt protest, and bolts down the stairs.

He’s not fast enough. His Mom is already sitting at the kitchen table, Isaac trying to shrink in on himself on the opposite side of it. There is a plate of waffles between them, and Isaac looks like he’s considering using it as a shield against Scott’s Mom’s pleasant smile and polite inquiries about his holidays.

Incidentally, Isaac has spent his holidays on her couch, suffering through unresolved sexual tension directed at her only son. “Werewolf business,” he says with a shy smile that has Scott’s insides doing funny, unplanned things.

“Hi,” Scott croaks out. His throat is made of sandpaper, and this shouldn’t be so surreal, but it is. It’s also genuinely **_nice_** , seeing Isaac just sitting in his kitchen, in the chair that Scott usually occupies, looking flustered and uncomfortable, and really, more adorable than he should.

“Isaac’s been telling me about your camping trip that you **_forgot to mention_** ,” Scott’s Mom says. Or at least so Scott guesses, because his brain automatically translates it to ‘I know he’s kidnapping you into the wilderness, have fun’. “Are you packed?”

Scott blinks at her, deer-in-the-headlights, and his Mom just sighs. “I’ll go do it now?” Scott suggests, grabbing a waffle and stuffing it into his mouth.

“I’ll help,” Isaac says at once, almost kicking his chair over in his eagerness to follow Scott upstairs. Scott is pretty sure they aren’t being subtle and when he dares to look at his Mom over his shoulder, her smile is in place, but her eyes are promising The Talk. Well, then.

Scott and Isaac skip up the stairs, alternating between brushing their arms together and trying to keep some decent distance between them. Scott knocks his elbow against the banister and yelps at the electrical-not-quite-pain sensation. He decides that’s that, and snatches Isaac by the hand, pulling him inside his room.

Using the element of surprise, Scott spins them around and nudges Isaac with his knees, forcing him on the edge of the bed. Isaac goes without a fight, wide-eyed and breathless, and it’s definitely not from exertion. Scott looks down at him; he may or may not have a bit of a complex when it comes to Isaac’s height. At the same time an even bigger part of him considers it hot. Those are conflicting emotions Scott can learn to live with.

“Please don’t tell me this is Derek’s idea,” Scott says.

Isaac is tugging him closer by the belt loops of his jeans. His eyes are fixed on Scott and the distracted movements of his fingers tell Scott that he isn’t exactly aware of what he’s doing. Scott goes along with it, until he’s in Isaac’s lap, his knees digging into the mattress.

“Actually, it’s mine,” Isaac says. His voice is teasing and confident, the hard exterior that he shows to the world, but there is something tentative in his eyes. The mask is slipping pretty quickly. “I thought you may want to get out of here, catch a break maybe? I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Do you‒ uh, do you want to come?”

Scott smiles, trying to pour all the tenderness and assurance into this smile. Isaac is good at playing a smug bastard, but when it’s just the two of them, Scott knows Isaac needs all the encouragement in the world, constant guarantee that he’s wanted, needed, that he’s **_important_**. Some nights Scott thinks about the man who made Isaac like that and he’s sort of grateful Isaac’s Father is dead.

Scott pushes this thought away just as he pushes his fingers through Isaac’s hair, enjoying how soft they are and how Isaac’s heartbeat is a tangible presence between the two of them. “Of course I want to go,” he says very carefully, because it’s vital that Isaac understands. “With you,” he adds, just to be on the safe side.

Isaac swallows sharply and nods – be it in agreement or in silent thanks – and he angles his neck, trying to reach Scott’s mouth. Scott takes a moment to note that there isn’t even a single mark from where he bit Isaac before he braces his hands on Isaac’s arms and leans in, pressing their lips together.

It’s one of those not-so-bright moments that Scott tends to have, but it’s only then, as he’s kissing Isaac in his bedroom, on his **_bed_** , with Isaac’s hands ghosting over his back like he’s not quite sure he’s allowed to touch, it’s only then that Scott realises that they are **_really doing this_**. Screw defining what **_this_** is. They are plunging head-first, after literally moths of stalling.

They are going on a camping trip.

The two of them.

Alone.

It’s a little scary, it’s definitely uncharted territory. Scott hopes he won’t mess it up. Hope is the keyword here, because with Isaac grinning into the kiss, finally allowing himself to relax underneath Scott, it’s hard for Scott to think what they are trying to build here is anything but **_right_**.

“Okay,” Scott says, pulling back. His lips are tingling along with his fingertips. “This is nice,” enjoy the understatement of the year, “but if we’re going to get anywhere **_today_** , I need to pack.”

“Right.” Isaac looks to be on the startled side right now, like he can’t quite believe what’s going on, so Scott takes it upon himself to disentangle himself gracelessly from Isaac. He starts stumbling around the room, stuffing things inside his lacrosse bag at half-random. “I’ve got a tent,” Isaac says. “And other things. I borrowed them from Boyd, along with his car. He camps with his dad a lot.”

Scott hums, pretending to actually fold a t-shirt before cramming it inside the bag, too. Isaac watches him, his eyes unblinking like they sometimes are – like Isaac forgets to do all those little things. Scott finds himself reciprocating the staring, so he figures enough packing is enough.

“So what, Derek won’t give us the Camaro?” Scott deadpans as they are walking downstairs again. Isaac just rolls his eyes, too weirded out  by the possibility to even respond. “Mom!” Scott yells towards the kitchen. “We’re going now!”

His Mom appears in the doorway practically instantly, in a very werewolf-esque show of sneaking up on people. She’s looking at Scott, but addressing Isaac. “It was nice having you over, Isaac. You should come again. Do you know where you will be back?”

“Tomorrow evening, ma’am,” Isaac says and Scott turns to look at him so fast something in his neck snaps. Isaac furrows his gracefully arched eyebrows at the sound, but doesn’t turn his eyes away from Scott’s Mom. He’s giving her the best puppy-look Scott’s ever seen. Scott is sort of jealous of his magnificent skill.

“Call me Melissa,” his Mom says easily. Scott thinks he knows why she was worried when she was telling him about his friend waiting for him. His Mom knows about Isaac’s past, and she doesn’t want Scott to do anything stupid to him. “Here, I’ve assembled you some provisions.”

Scott’s Mom practically pushes the plastic bag into Isaac’s hands, and he accepts it with such a dumbfounded expression Scott wants to laugh at him. Only not exactly, because he knows why Isaac is so shocked that an adult would give him anything.

Something warm fills Scott, something that may be easily explained by the fact that his Mom is brilliant. His Mom is the person Scott wants to grow up to be, and it’s no longer a child’s awe. It’s a perfectly conscious realisation that his Mom has put up with so much and she still has enough of this light in her to share it with a boy she barely even knows.

The bubble sort of bursts when his Mom calls “We’ll talk when you boys come back!” after them. Isaac’s shoulders hunch even further than usual, and he climbs into the driver’s seat in complete silence. He’s not very talkative on his best days, at least not in a group, preferring to listen and observe. This silence is mostly apprehensive, and continues as Scott gets into the passenger’s seat and Isaac starts the car.

“Where are we going?” Scott asks. Somehow, this hasn’t seemed important. Still doesn’t, now that he thinks about it. It’s the **_who_** that Scott is preoccupied with – that’s making him light-headed.

“The woods,” Isaac says vaguely.

“Derek-woods or some other woods?” Scott presses on.

“General woods,” Isaac says. The apple of his cheek, the one that Scott can see, lifts in a smile.

Scott settles himself more comfortably in his seat. The car smells mostly of Boyd, but also Erica. Underneath all that is the comforting smell of pack – and it’s still new to Scott, **_belonging_** , but he can get behind it, he really can – and also some very distant human smells. Stiles, surprisingly. When has he even **_been_** in Boyd’s car?

It’s not really important, but Scott’s mind is working overtime, trying to come up with something Scott should say. Isaac doesn’t seem inclined to break the silence, completely focused on driving towards the edge of the town ( ** _Does he even have a driving license?_** Scott wonders briefly). Scott dismisses a few really bad ideas, most prominently the ‘morning wood’ jokes playing themselves in his head.

It was easier when they had a TV to provide all the background  noise. Struck by inspiration, Scott turns the radio on. It blasts some sort of pop-rock mush that either Erica **_or_** Derek could be blamed for. Isaac cringes and turns the radio off. “Isn’t it enough I have to listen to it at the house?”

“Sorry,” Scott mumbles. The awkwardness settles in for good, and in the silence, Scott ponders just how truly he sucks at this game.

***

‘General woods’ turn out to be just what the cover has advertised.

Scott and Isaac drive far enough to not be in any remote danger of running into the pack, but not excessively far, so that they’ll be able to come back fairly quickly if the need shall arise. It’s hard to get some privacy when your friends are werewolves. Scott would know. Even if they were all tactful about Isaac smelling like him the day after their semi-legendary make-out session, not making any snide remarks, Scott could **_hear_** them gossiping. Especially Erica and Lydia.

Isaac moves through the woods as if he’s familiar with every branch and, well, maybe he is. Now that Scott gives it some thought, this may very well be the place where Isaac used to come when he searched for seclusion. Maybe even when he was a human – the clearing to which Isaac leads Scott is fairly approachable by bike.

To Scott it looks mostly like a perfectly normal clearing. Not too big – just enough space for a tent and a bonfire, with sufficient amount of room between them so that the first doesn’t catch fire from the second.

“Do you know how to set up a tent?” Isaac asks uncertainly, dragging the folded package from the car. He sets it to the ground with way too much care, eyeing it warily like it may spring to life.

Scott tears himself away from contemplating the greenery. “Don’t you?” he asks conversationally. He doesn’t mean to be sarcastic, he’s just curious about Isaac, who doesn’t exactly offer information about himself.

“We used to go camping when Camden was still‒ around,” Isaac offers, crouching down to watch Scott’s hands. Scott suddenly feels very clumsy as he works on getting all the elements of the tent out of the bag. Isaac circles his calves with his arms, folding himself in a way that should **_not_** be possible at his height. “He would set up the tent, with my father. I would go to bring some wood.” He looks to the side, like there are some particularly promising sticks scattered there, but other than that, he makes no move to go anywhere.

“My dad wasn’t around for any of that bonding stuff,” Scott admits. Honesty for honesty, he figures. And he wants Isaac to know those things, just like he wanted him to know about Allison. He wants to share everything with Isaac, but somehow it doesn’t sound like the right moment to tell it to him. “We used to go camping with Stiles all the time, though. It was mostly in his backyard, but you know. Before– uh, before the **_grr_** happened.” He mimics sharp fangs with his fingers.

“Do you regret it sometimes? The **_grr_**?” Isaac asks with a weak attempt at a smile.

‘No, because I got you out of this,’ sounds like a cheesy response, even compared to some things Scott said to Allison. Anyway, however sweet of a notion this may be, it’s not exactly true. “Yeah. Sometimes I do. When things get real, and my friends are in danger, or my mom is‒ Sometimes I love it. Isn’t that the truth more or less for every one of those ‘Do you like being whatever’ questions?”

Isaac gives a one-shouldered shrug, before unfolding himself gracefully to his full height. Scott likes him the best like this: sure in his movements, confident. “I think I’ll go look for that wood now,” Isaac says, “and then we can eat something. I brought some food, too.”

“Okay.”

Isaac hesitates for a moment, before rocking forward and planting a quick kiss on Scott’s cheek. Scott rubs at the place where Isaac’s lips touched his skin, taken by surprise by the easy affection behind the gesture. Isaac is already gone, the grey-and-blue of his shirt disappearing between the trees.

It’s been some time since the last time Scott and Stiles had a chance to spend their time like that. Sleeping in tents wasn’t a good idea with kanimas, murderous hunters, omega werewolves and the alpha pack roaming the woods. Scott remembers vividly that one occasion when Stiles talked him into a stroll. Scott got fur out of this.

Still, it takes Scott a short while to set the tent, his fingers familiar with the movements. Scott takes a moment to admire his work before going back to the car in search of something to eat. He hasn’t had breakfast (the one lonely waffle doesn’t count), too preoccupied with **_Isaac in his house_** , but he’s a teenaged boy-slash-a wolf. He needs sustenance, and lots of it.

Scott is going through the sandwiches that his Mom packed – and trying **_not_** to think about the fact that his Mom is packing him and his not-exactly-boyfriend sandwiched so that they don’t starve in the woods, **_or_** that he’s probably having **_brunch_** right now – when Isaac comes back. Since he’s dashed out of the clearing in one of his strange moods, he wasn’t prepared for any serious wood-carrying. He decided to take care of it by wrapping an impressive bundle of wood, dwarfing even him, in his shirt.

He should look ridiculous, like an elderly woman from a fairy tale, but alas, he’s Isaac, and he’s shirtless, so Scott’s heart jumps to his throat anyway.

“Food,” Isaac says enthusiastically, plopping onto the grass next to Scott. He plunges his hand into the bag, thrown carelessly between them, and comes up with a turkey sandwich. “Your Mom made those?” he asks after thoroughly chewing and swallowing. Isaac is a neat eater, which can’t be said about Scott.

“I’m pretty sure she **_bought_** those,” Scott says around a mouthful of his own ham-and-cheese. He probably looks disgusting, but Isaac looks at him almost‒ fondly.

“We could go hunt something for dinner?” Isaac suggests, lifting his eyebrows for emphasis.

Scott shakes his head. “No. Sorry, man, but no way. I’m still having nightmares after that one time we saw Boyd munch on a deer. No.”

“I was planning on roasting it over the fire,” Isaac says with a quirk of his mouth. “I know you aren’t a big fan of the raw meat.”

Scott just huffs. “We can go running,” he amends. Scott may not be the most perceptive one, but he can sense the discomfort coming from Isaac. Isaac tries to keep them busy so that they don’t have to‒ Scott has no idea, but he votes for avoidance here, too.

Running is something werewolves are always up to, so Isaac agrees easily. Maybe even a little **_too_** eagerly.

***

Not surprisingly, running pretty quickly turns into a mad dash through the woods that could **_probably_** be considered a game of tag, if not for all the fur and friendly but vicious-sounding snarling.

It comes as even less of a surprise when the quasi-game of tag turns into making out against a tree.

“I missed you,” Isaac murmurs into Scott’s mouth. He’s kissing and breathing shallowly, his body pressing Scott into the rough three trunk. It’s not comfortable, far from it, and a little messy in how desperate Isaac is to convey all his feelings without stating them out loud.

Scott is no better, really, with his searching fingers and pleading little noises. Isaac is overwhelming, too much, too **_good_** for him, and every time Scott thinks he’s getting a grasp on how to proceed over the slippery ground that is their relationship, something gives. Maybe he’s sabotaging himself because he knows he isn’t what Isaac really needs, but oh, he wants to be.

The window of opportunity closes, and whatever Scott might have wanted to tell Isaac, for not it has to wait. The moment isn’t right, but Scott hopes it will be, and soon. He abandoned his plan, but the goal is still there.

Scott knows exactly how it feels to have someone underneath your hands and still miss them.

They break away with matching, goofy smiles. Isaac’s eyes are wide, and Scott takes it as a sign that Isaac is just as against stopping now as he is. Scott’s hard in his jeans, stuffy and uncomfortable in his very **_skin_** , but this isn’t right. They have to settle some things before. And yeah, Scott is pretty sure his dick is going to fall off in sheer protest against this idea.

“About that dinner,” Scott says. Or tries to say, because the sound that escapes his mouth is bound to make the humpback whales in the ocean restless, but is too low for humans – or werewolves – to pick out.

Isaac must be able to read his mouth, which wouldn’t be surprising, considering the way in which he’s staring at them, because he says, “I knew you won’t be into going **_grr_** on anything fluffy, so I packed some stuff. Stiles told me about your bunny freak-out.”

Scott shrugs, trying to project indignation. He makes a mental note to talk to Stiles about his new habit of having long, Scott-themed chats with Isaac. For now he twines Isaac’s fingers with his own and pulls him into a chase back to their campsite.

***

It’s not like there is just constant tensions between them. Scott genuinely likes Isaac, for his dry humour and his kind interior that he puts so much energy into hiding. Scott likes how Isaac tries to get to know him without making it too obvious, how he tentatively offers snapshots from his own past in return.

Scott loves how Isaac’s eyes look otherworldly in the glow of the fire, how his long fingers make sneaky detours to Scott’s hand where Scott’s leaning on it, pressing it to the ground. Scott loves how Isaac lets out a small laugh when Scott says something especially silly, how his smile is warm but surprised, like he thinks Scott is something to be marvelled at, and he can’t comprehend the fact that he gets to have him like that.

Scott hates how he doesn’t know more of those small things about Isaac, hates it that if he doesn’t do something, say something, he’ll never get a chance.

He also hates how the tent is the proverbial elephant in the room between them (Stiles has taken to saying ‘proverbial Derek in my bedroom’, and Scott can only hope he means Derek’s random appearances in lieu of normal telephone calls asking for research).

Scott crawls inside the tent, scooting to the side. He fidgets with one of the two sleeping bags. It’s pale, washed-out green and Scott recognises it as Stiles’. It’s too warm in the tent to get inside it, so Scott lays on it, spreading on his back with his hands behind his head. He makes himself comfortable, watching Isaac knee-walk into the tent.

Isaac doesn’t as much as glance at his own sleeping bag, instead bracing his knees on either side of Scott’s hips, folding himself to fit in the claustrophobic space of the tent. He smiles down at Scott, mischievous glint in his eyes.

And okay, Scott loves Isaac like that, too. He loves it when Isaac traces his hands over Scott’s chest and leans in to steal a kiss. He loves how beautiful Isaac is like this.

But Scott has to do the right thing here. He musters all his resolve, almost painful in his chest, and snatches Isaac’s wrists. “Wait.”

Isaac swallows hard, and starts pulling back. The hurt in his eyes isn’t even half as bad as the resignation. Like he **_expected_** Scott to back down.

“No, wait, just‒ Wait. Let me talk, okay?” Isaac nods, and even though he doesn’t physically move, his face closes and becomes distant, in that untouchable way that he’s got when he tries to play cold and uncaring. Scott presses on. “Look. I want you to‒ I need you to understand something here. And I suck at those talks, so‒ This isn’t just messing around for me. I like touching you, don’t get me wrong. It’s **_great_** , but‒”

“You don’t want it,” Isaac says. He’s trying to look detached so hard it makes Scott ache all over just to look at him like that. Scott hears the ‘it’, and he hears the ‘me’ that was really meant to go there.

“No! Do you even listen to me? No. I want you. I want you so bad it’s pretty pathetic. I’m trying to convey something here, dude. I want **_all_** of you. The good stuff, and the bad stuff. I want access to that head of yours and I want to know what’s going on in there, not just guess constantly.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isaac says, his jaw set. “I’m not good, like you are. I want to be.” He throws his head back, sighing softly. “I’m trying to be what you want. I think I’m getting better at it, but‒ I’ll never be Allison.”

“I don’t want Allison,” Scott says quickly. Too quickly. Isaac laughs, and it’s a bitter, hollow sort of sound. Scott almost flinches. “I want you. I lo‒”

“Don’t,” Isaac interrupts him with a bark. “I just hope one day you will want me like you want her, but it’s fine, I can wait. I’ve waited for‒ I think since I became a werewolf. But sometimes I think maybe longer, because it’s hard to remember the time when I **_haven’t_** loved you.”

“I‒” Scott tries again, but Isaac presses a hand to his mouth. It’s brief, he pulls away quickly, but Scott gets the message. No L Word for him tonight. Fine. Well, not **_fine_** , but if this is what Isaac needs, than Scott can get on with the program. “What do **_you_** want?” he asks, since Isaac isn’t shutting him up anymore.

Isaac startles. Like that’s such an **_unexpected_** , impossible question. “You,” he says curtly, and then, when Scott raises his eyebrows, “To be with you. To have a high school romance with you. To build something with you, because I’ve never built anything. You,” he repeats pointedly.

“You’ve got me,” Scott says. That seems to be the right answer, because Isaac hums his agreement, regarding him closely. Scott tries to convey with his eyes what he’s not allowed to say into the relative, nightlife-filled silence of the darkness around them.

Isaac ponders that for a moment, and then he smiles, slow and lazy. A smile of someone who has just won. “I want you inside me.”

And, well‒

Well, Scott is pretty certain he’s the one who just won something here. He tries to come up with the right response, but Isaac side-tracks him completely, pulling his shirt over his head. Scott doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the view, of Isaac undressing for him.

Isaac doesn’t stop at the shirt this time. He rolls off of Scott, careless and relaxed once more, just like that, as if he hasn’t just offered Scott sex in the most casual way imaginable. He unbuttons his jeans and starts shucking them down his narrow hips, and Scott stares, transfixed.

“Uh,” Scott chokes out. “We were supposed to talk.”

“We can do it naked,” Isaac says distractedly, busy with kicking his shoes off along with his jeans.

As far as Scott’s concerned Isaac can do anything and everything naked, really. The thought gets cut away – all the thought processes do – when Isaac yanks his boxers off, too. Scott just stares, and maybe even salivates a little.

“Fuck,” he says. Not his most brilliant line, not by far, but he’s proud that he’s manages to get out even that in the face of– Isaac. All of Isaac, perfect and unbelievable, his for the taking.

“Exactly,” Isaac agrees. “Now come here.”

And Scott does, because he’s only **_human_** , and he’s a teenager, and he doesn’t think anybody could deny Isaac. But Isaac wants **_Scott_** , and as incomprehensible as this may be, it’s also true, so Scott stumbles gracelessly out of his own clothes.

His movements are hasty and nowhere as languidly sensual as Isaac’s, but it doesn’t matter much now. Scott decides to just stop questioning it and start **_acting_**.

Scott fits himself in that place between Isaac’s spread legs that he knows now can be **_his_** and only his. Isaac is watching him, propped on his elbows, and Scott starts with kissing away that smug smirk. He licks his way inside Isaac’s mouth, nibbles and bites. He kisses Isaac like he never **_dares_** to kiss, fierce and determined to show him he’s all in.

Scott’s got a plan for this, too. He’s going to have Isaac begging and moaning underneath him, he’s going to make him feel **_good_** , better than good, so that every time Isaac will think about letting anybody fuck him he’ll know it’s only Scott who can do this. Only Scott who’s allowed.

Isaac always wakes this possessive streak in Scott. Just Isaac’s fingers yanking at his hair are enough to make Scott want to mark him again. And he’s allowed to, so Scott presses open-mouthed kisses to Isaac’s jaw and lower, until his lips stumble over the sharp line of Isaac’s collarbone. Scott sucks there and then bites, earning himself a sharp hiss from Isaac. It’s a good kind of hiss, he imagines, because Isaac’s hips buckle and his fingers get just that bit more insistent in Scott’s hair.

Scott smooths a hand over Isaac’s chest, wondering at how **_different_** it is from anything he’s done with Alison, and how he maybe should be freaking out, because there is nothing from a girl’s softness in Isaac’s body. Instead he latches onto a nipple, circling it with his tongue, scraping with his teeth and then lapping eagerly.

“ ** _Shit,_** ” Isaac moans. “Yes, yes, this‒”

Scott’s lips curl in a smile, because here it is, another thing worth knowing about Isaac. Another little detail. Scott spends extra time giving his undivided attention to Isaac’s nipples, each one in turn, until Isaac’s noises are incoherent and on the demanding side.

Ignoring them for the time-being, but recording in the privacy of his head for later, Scott spends a moment licking and mouthing at Isaac’s stomach and ribs. He already knows Isaac is ticklish here – and it’s brilliant to already know something like that – but Isaac doesn’t swat him away, already too far gone.

Scott inches further back, until his hands are braced on the sharp edges of Isaac’s hips and Scott’s looking straight at his cock. It’s, quite expectedly, the first dick Scott as looked at from up close and deliberately, and Scott has that long overdue freak-out then. Not because there is something not-appealing about the leaking hardness or because Scott is having second thoughts. No, he’s freaking out because he’s **_sure_** he’s bound to mess it up now. He’ll move wrong, or touch Isaac wrong, and Isaac will‒

“Scott,” Isaac says, lifting himself to his elbows again and giving him a single eyebrow-rise. The cool gesture is rendered unimpressive by Isaac’s red cheeks and blown pupils, and the heavy way in which his chest is expanding with oxygen. “Why did you stop?”

“I don’t want to do anything wrong,” Scott admits. He knows he looks ridiculous, staring helplessly at Isaac’s dick like that, with his own erection prominent, but it’s their first time and it **_ought_** to be awkward to be perfect. This way they know they are learning this together.

“If you’re about to do what I think you’re about to do,” Isaac says suspiciously patiently, “I’m sure I’m on board.”

“Okay, then,” Scott says, and just to make sure they’re both on the same page, “Here goes.” Scott decides to just go for it, figuratively speaking. His lips wrap around the head of Isaac’s cock.

Isaac swears loudly, his head hitting the ground with a loud **_thud_**.  Scott takes it as positive feedback, and experimentally tries to take more of Isaac’s length into his mouth. It feels thicker, and longer than when Scott was just staring at it, and the taste isn’t quite what Scott expected. It’s not terrible, though – mostly it tastes like Isaac smells, and that’s something Scott’s practically addicted to.

Scott hits the back of his throat pretty quickly, and it’s obvious that any deep-throating attempts need to be saved for later. What Scott lacks in technique he more than makes up in dedication, wrapping his fingers where his lips don’t reach. His rhythm is non-existent, a random compilation of suction and head-bobbing.

If the steady string of moans and almost-growls coming from Isaac can be trusted, Isaac doesn’t mind. Feeling encouraged, Scott speeds up a little, and now Isaac is howling, his elongated claws digging into Scott’s shoulders and piercing skin. Scott hums his approval, his tongue sneaking out to lick at the slit of Isaac’s cock, and that’s it.

Suddenly Scott’s mouth is being filled with Isaac’s come, salty and hot. He doesn’t get to taste much of it, because Isaac jerks his hips involuntarily, forcing himself further down Scott’s throat. Scott choked and swallows rapidly a few times, and Isaac gasps his name, lifts off of the tent’s floor and then falls back, his body completely wrecked and his expression blissed-out.

“Sorry for‒” he starts, but Scott cuts him off, “It’s fine.” And it is, despite the burning in his throat and stinging in his eyes.

Isaac tugs at his wrist until Scott is leaning in enough for Isaac to kiss him, luxuriously slow. Scott appreciates it, he does, he loves all of Isaac’s kisses, but he can’t help the small bite to Isaac’s lower lip, because the want is still insistent in his veins.

As if reading his mind – and Scott wouldn’t be surprised, with the way Isaac just fits in his life with everything else – Isaac gives him a smile that should be illegal because it’s so dirty, before stretching out his arm and dragging his backpack closer to himself. He rummages through it for a moment and then slaps a bottle of lube into Scott’s hand.

“No, uh?” Scott asks, fidgeting with the small container. “No condoms?” he finally manages.

“I’m clean,” Isaac says simply. “Werewolf-clean. Unless you have Allison cooties?”

Scott attempts a **_massive_** eye-roll, but before he gets a chance to execute it through, Isaac flips onto his stomach, his ass coming into the air and his head cradled in his forearms.

And– **_Whoa_**. Scott wants a picture to make it his cell phone background, but mostly he wants to be inside Isaac, **_stat_**.

Taking his awe as another attack of hesitation, Isaac cranes his neck to look at him. He looks sheepish, which is a new one. “I’ve read it’s easier like that. The first time, I mean.”

“You’ve–” Scott stutters. “Please tell me Stiles hasn’t researched this for you.”

“I can use the Internet, you know.” Isaac buries his forehead back in his folded arms. Scott takes a steadying breath.

“Stop me if it hurts,” Scott says, pretty sure it’s more of a matter of ‘when’. Isaac mumbles something that Scott decides to take as agreement, but sounds suspiciously like ‘no chance’.

Scott almost drops the bottle of lube when he tries to uncork it. Isaac can’t see him, which has its appeal – when Scott kisses the knobs of Isaac’s spine, Isaac shudders, surprised. Scott keeps doing it, pressing his lips in little soothing motions, at the same time coating his fingers with lube.

He murmurs nonsensical assurances against Isaac’s heated skin, his index finger circling and teasing the puckered hole. Scott pushes the finger inside, just a little, and the sound escaping Isaac is as close to a purr as a human being probably ever gets. That’s new, too, so Scott presses in a little more, his breath hitching at the scorching pressure engulfing him. “You okay?” he asks, and in response Isaac pushes back, until Scott’s finger is all the way in.

This is completely new territory, so Scott goes on what little traumatising reading he’s done on the topic and, well, instinct. He starts moving his finger, and when Isaac relaxes, adds another one. He does it all slowly, mindful of every change in Isaac’s breathing. Scott’s erection is practically painful now, but he wills himself to be patient.

Of course Isaac decides it’s a perfect moment to be honest. “You can go‒ ah, faster. I‒ I practiced a little on my own.”

Scott grits his teeth and shuts his eyes against the mental picture. Isaac, fingering himself, his cock in his hand, head thrown back in pleasure‒

“I wanted to see, ah, see how would it well. **_Yes_** ‒ How would it feel if you were inside me.”

“Fuck,” Scott grits out. He scissors his fingers, pumping them faster now, tearing little gasps from Isaac. Isaac, who is hard all over again – and isn’t werewolf stamina the best? – practically fucking himself on Scott’s fingers. And Scott would love to be patient for this, he would, but he’s not a damn Buddhist monk, he’s got his limits.

When Scott pulls his fingers out, Isaac makes a sound like he’s personally offended, and Scott would smile, but all his muscle control is going into something else. He coats his own cock thickly with lube, trying to make the motions as impersonal and clinical as possible.

“Ready?” Scott pants out. It’s not the hottest thing to say right now, but he needs to be sure.

Isaac still manages to sound smug, the bastard. “For a few **_months_** now, weren’t you listeni‒ **_Scott!_** ”

Scott pushes in just the slightest bit, the head of his dick teasing at Isaac’s entrance. Scott looks down, at the puckered, pink skin and inches forward some more, watching his own cock disappearing there, being welcomed by this sweet, sweet tightness. He listens hungrily to Isaac’s laboured breathing, at the same time keenly searching for any sign of distress.

“Keep going, keep going, **_god_** , please,” Isaac urges him. Scott listens to him for once, forcing himself to keep up that excruciating pace.

It takes hours, it would seem, deliciously painful hours until Scott bottoms out, his sack snug against Isaac’s ass. And oh sweet werewolf god, if such a thing exists, if this isn’t where Scott belongs, then he has no idea where else.

Scott freezes, waiting for any sign that he can keep doing. Despite his bravado, Isaac takes a moment to adjust before he wriggles his ass experimentally, hisses a little in hurt-pleasure. It takes another moment before he grits out, his voice unrecognisable to anybody who hasn’t been listening to him as carefully as Scott, “I thought I told you to keep going.”

And Scott figures, why the hell not, if that’s what he’s asking for. He pulls out almost all the way and then slams back with a force that almost knocks Isaac over. They both groan, and Scott has to dig up the last of his self-control from somewhere deep down **_not_** to shift.

Breathing becomes an issue, but really, Scott can get by without air but he **_couldn’t_** get by without Isaac pliant underneath him. He rocks his hips again, and then again, every drag and push making his veins tingle with electricity. Isaac’s arms and knees just give way at some point, and Scott follows him to the tent’s floor, pressing chest-to-back, his fingers intertwining with Isaac’s, pressing his hands to the ground, his hips still circling.

Isaac is rutting against the sleeping bag that Scott is fucking him into, whimpering and begging Scott to go **_harder, he can take it, harder_**.

Scott does, because Scott would give Isaac everything, and because it’s a great, great idea. The air if filled with **_them_** , the sounds, the smells, all of it tangible on Scott’s tongue. He licks the sweat away from Isaac’s neck, and Isaac makes a broken noise, Scott’s name twisted beyond recognition, and then he’s coming, his ass clenching around Scott’s cock in spasms.

Scott is moving in a feverish haze now, and nothing is real except for Isaac underneath him, the slide of sweaty skin against skin. And it’s **_his_** , what an unbelievable thought, that Isaac is giving it all to **_him_**. Scott searches for confirmation that he isn’t dreaming all of it. He noses at Isaac’s hairline, drags his own head up and fits his teeth against the scruff of Isaac’s neck. He bites down with his blunt human teeth, bruising but not piercing skin. Isaac shudders.

Scott rests all his weight on one hand and grabs at Isaac’s hair, pulling his head backwards at an uncomfortable angle until they can kiss, tongues and teeth and then just teeth, biting, scraping, claiming.

The electricity gathers in Scott’s wrists and in the crooks of his knees and elbows, and in his groin, pooling there, fighting for something that Scott wants to reach‒

And he’s coming inside of Isaac, he’s **_coming inside of Isaac_**. The knowledge is monumental, almost eclipsing the explosion behind Scott’s eyelids, the punch-like, delirious pleasure.

Scott collapses half on top of Isaac, and Isaac doesn’t push him off, just reaches back to card his fingers through Scott’s damp hair.

They don’t say anything. It’s not about words between them.

***

Scott loves waking up next to Isaac.

Isaac is still asleep next to him, their legs tangled together and Scott using Isaac’s arm as a pillow. In the light filtering thought the partially-transparent walls of the tent, Isaac’s face is open and careless. **_Beautiful,_** Scott thinks and isn’t ashamed of it, because it’s the truth.

Isaac is beautiful inside and outside, even if, admittedly, there is some jerk in the middle. Right now nobody would believe it, though. Isaac’s hair is a golden halo, curling softly over his smooth forehead and the arches of his eyebrows. Scott worships the lines of his cheekbones and jawline, and every bone that is in sharp contrast to lean muscle. The half-curl of his mouth, damn, even his chin. Every detail.

Isaac is‒ **_Angelic_** , Scott thinks as Isaac cracks one blue eye open, regards him sleepily and then opens the other one when he deems Scott worthy of fully waking up.

Isaac’s hand shoots out suddenly, yanking at the elastic of Scott’s boxer briefs.

“If you’re awake, I’m up for seconds.”

Well, maybe not **_angelic_**. But Scott loves that, too.

***

The dinner after they come back to the civilisation almost gives Scott paranoia. He’s **_sure_** his Mom knows, somehow, what they were doing out in the woods – and on their way in the car – that she can see right through the ginger way in which Isaac sits on his chair. The conversations is awkward at best, and Scott makes an elaborate show out of not looking at Isaac. Isaac maintains steady eye-contact with his plate, and after dinner they exchange the most clumsy bro-hug Scott has ever been a part of.

It’s the maestro-level of acting skills, if Scott says so himself.

His Mom, of course, doesn’t buy it.

She’s waiting for Scott in the kitchen when he comes back inside and makes a beeline for the sink, deciding to wash the dishes just for good measure. It hindsight, maybe that was overkill.

“Isaac lives with that ex-con, Hale, doesn’t he?” she asks, her voice sweet and pleasant in a way that makes Scott’s skin crawl.

“Derek’s been cleared off all charges,” Scott says half-heartedly. In all honesty, Derek is guilty as hell, just not of the things Stiles’ Dad thought. “And he’s our alpha, so him taking Isaac in was sort of a given.” Again, not the whole truth, but Scott is starting to learn the value of those things. Not lies, he doesn’t want to lie to his Mom anymore. Not if he’s able to help it.

“Hm,” his Mom says. “They live in that burned-down house, don’t they?”

“Yeah, the old Hale house. But they are working on renovating it. I help sometimes.”

“That’s nice.” She looks at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “How is that coming around?”

“Uh, okay, I guess? Sort of slow. We don’t know anything about carpentry and wiring, so we mostly google stuff. It would go faster if Jackson helped.”

“How resourceful. Maybe I could ask Derek Hale to come over for dinner sometime?”

Scott throws his hands in the air, splashing foam and water all over himself. “Fine, okay, I’ll spill! I’m gay for Isaac, and he’s gay for me, and we’re– Okay, we’re not gay, but‒”

His Mom watches him with perfect, Zen-like calm. “I know that, Scott. I’m your mother, I know when you’re in love with someone.” She smiles. “And Isaac isn’t being subtle, either.”

“And you don’t care?” Scott asks, surprised.

“I **_care_**. I care that you didn’t tell me. And I care about you being happy. I don’t care that Isaac is a boy if that’s what you’re getting at. I care that he’s been a **_miserable_** boy, and now he’s smiling. Do you know how many times I’ve had to put him back together in the hospital when his‒” She cuts herself off. Scott just stares, his hands dribbling soapy water to the tile floor.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you,” he says at last. “I’m not sure I knew, either,”

“I know,” she repeats, warm and with that look that is purely **_his Mom_** , and Scott finds himself smiling, too, some invisible weight lifted from him. If she’s fine with it, everything is going to work out in the end. “A boy shouldn’t live in a mausoleum like that. We have a spare room‒”

Scott doesn’t let her finish. He throws his arms around her, water and all, and she pulls him in, welcoming and smelling of home and his childhood, patting his head. “When have you grown up so much?” she whispers into his hair. “When have you became this young man who saves people, and cares for them, and puts lost boys back together?”

And Scott isn’t ashamed of the fact that his eyes may be a bit red-rimmed at the moment, because everything he’s learnt, everything he is – it’s because of her and thanks to her. He thinks he actually can hope to be like her, one day, if he tries hard enough.

“Thank you,” he whispers back, and he’s sure she knows what he means: ‘Thank you for shaping me into the person who **_can_** put him back together’.

_~fin~_


End file.
